


Lay Down My Heart

by Haicrescendo



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, buddy (reverent), cockwarming (mentioned), everyone involved could probably use a little more self esteem, idiots to lovers, it’s all about the devotion, something smells like honest communication, the inherent romance of giving your man a facial, the most tender and loving blowjob in the history of the world, the real ship here is sokka x zuko x a good night’s sleep, the standard soft slutty porn that the author is known for, they’re in love your honor, zuko is so tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [Zuko has been awake for thirty-six terrible, horrible hours.And now it’s nearly three am, the apartment is empty, and Zuko is so tired that he feels dangerously close to crying. It’d be easier if Sokka were here, but he’s out with some buddies from class. Zuko had been invited too, but declined for sleep-related reasons, and in retrospect he wishes that he’d gone out instead. He’d undoubtedly still be fairly miserable, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.Ugh. The world is awful. Everything is awful.Zuko wants a lobotomy.]Or,Zuko and Sokka have an arrangement.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 1245
Collections: Made me cry





	Lay Down My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be, like, three thousand words max. Needless to say, it wasn’t.
> 
> If you liked this, please leave a comment and let me know! Feedback is the writer’s lifeblood, the fuel to my flames as it were. If you’d rather screech at me on tumblr instead, I can be found @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Zuko has been awake for thirty-six terrible, horrible hours.

Zuko has been awake for thirty-six terrible, horrible hours and has been trying to sleep for the last four, to absolutely no success. He finished his final exam for the semester that evening, assumed that he would pass out immediately...and did not.

And now it’s nearly three am, the apartment is empty, and Zuko is so tired that he feels dangerously close to crying. It’d be easier if Sokka were here, but he’s out with some buddies from class. Zuko had been invited too, but declined for sleep-related reasons, and in retrospect he wishes that he’d gone out instead. He’d undoubtedly still be fairly miserable, but at least he wouldn’t be _alone._

_Ugh._ The world is awful. Everything is awful.

Zuko wants a lobotomy.

He considers texting his roommate to suss out when he might be home, and ultimately decides against it. Who’s he to try and keep Sokka from having whatever fun he wants to have? It’s been a hard semester for everyone, and he deserves to go out and relax and not be tethered to the anxious whims of his neurotic best friend. No matter how badly Zuko wants the company.

And _god_ he wants the company. Zuko wants the company so bad. Among other things.

Zuko digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and prays for either energy, sleep, or death. He gets none of it, only the same hard, achy throbbing in the space between his eyes that he’s had since five o’clock this morning. Yesterday morning. Whenever the fuck the last five am was.

Forever ago is what it feels like.

Zuko gives up on his battle to remain upright, collapsing directly onto his face and into the couch cushions like a marionette with cut strings. He doesn’t even care that his face is touching where butts have been. His butt. Sokka’s butt. _Aang’s_ butt. Nobody can hear him, because Zuko’s a sad fuck who had the audacity to think he might be able to just fall asleep the way he desperately needs to and passed on being sociable, but he groans mournfully into the fabric of the cushion anyway.

He loves this couch. This couch is old as hell and charmingly grody and has a few hot sauce stains that were there before they even got it, but it’s soft and comfy and _so_ good for napping. Or it would be, if Zuko wasn’t a horrible, insomniac fuck up with a horrible crush on his roommate.

God. He’s seen Sokka eat toast with ketchup on it when he didn’t want to get groceries, and _still_ managed to be helplessly in love with him. God. As if any other proof was needed that love was blind.

Zuko doesn’t sleep but does manage to drift in that weird stage between being uncomfortably conscious and the sweet release of death and doesn’t register the opening and closing of the front door until a hand, fumbling in the very specific way of its owner not actually looking, touches the top of his head. Zuko groans a little and bats at it. If he’s going to get robbed, at least have the decency to put him out of his misery first.

He says this out loud, apparently, because seconds later there’s a very familiar snort, _very_ close to Zuko’s face.

“Okay there, bud. Slow your roll.”

Zuko gives another wordless groan and hopes that it isn’t obvious that he’s pressing his face into the palm of Sokka’s hand. 

“Open your eyes for me?”

“Don’t wanna.”

A quiet little breath of laughter and there’s the rustling of someone lowering themselves to the floor. This time, when Sokka speaks, he can’t be more than a few inches away. Zuko squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. A familiar, patient finger taps at Zuko’s cheek.

“Come on, open up for me.”

Zuko doesn’t have the energy to do anything but obey, blearily opening his eyes. The world swims into focus and Zuko tries his best to not focus too hard on the soft warmth written all over Sokka’s stupid, too-pretty face. It’s not _fair._ It’s not _right._

“What’s not right?”

“Everything. Shut up. Let me die alone.”

“I thought you said you were gonna sleep. You looked like you’d have passed out the second the house went quiet.”

“Tried,” Zuko mumbles, “Can’t. I tried _so hard._ ” It's pretty pathetic, but his voice cracks a little at the end. His eyes hurt and he scrubs at them. “I’m so _tired,_ Sokka. Why am I like this?”

Sokka gives a sympathetic little _tsk_ and gently, carefully, _mercilessly_ rubs his hand over Zuko’s dark hair. It’s diabolical and absolutely the work of evil, and Zuko couldn’t tell him to stop even if he wanted to.

“Poor baby,” he says, lowers his voice when Zuko flinches. “Can I do anything to help?”

This is always how it starts. They’ve done this song and dance so many times, and this is how it always starts. Sokka never just presumes, even though Zuko desperately wishes that he would. They’ve done this so many times and every single time, Sokka asks the exact same question, as if Zuko’s ever going to turn him away.

So many times, and, unfailingly, Zuko has the same answer. He’s bad at words and better with action, and there’s no doubt what he wants when he reaches out to clutch for Sokka’s hand, tugging it close to his face and pressing his nose into the center of his palm. Sokka cannot misunderstand him.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles, “Help. Want you to.”

A wide, slow smile curves Sokka’s lips upwards. Zuko hasn’t even been touched yet and feels himself start to melt anyway. That particular smile is the one that makes his toes curl, and his heart pound a thunderous drumbeat in his head. Sokka _knows_ , and Sokka’s going to help him.

“You know,” Sokka tells him, “I only went out without you because I thought for sure you’d be knocked out when I got home. Sit up, please.” Now that Zuko’s given him permission, he touches him casually. Zuko lurches hard in his attempt to sit up, nearly falls off the couch, and strong, warm hands catch him before he can eat the carpet. Sokka muscles him carefully upright, tucking Zuko against his side and underneath the curve of his arm. “Poor thing, what a mess. You look so tired.”

Zuko can only agree. He _is_ a mess and he _is_ so tired.

It doesn’t change what he wants.

Zuko twists to be able to press his face into the side of Sokka’s throat, lips grazing the soft spot of skin underneath his ear. It’s not a kiss, but it’s as close as he dares. They don’t kiss when they do this, even though Zuko wants it so badly it hurts.

“Pushy,” Sokka teases him. Zuko whines a little when he pulls away, but it’s only so that he can divest Zuko of his shirt and then tug off his own, revealing panels of warm, dark skin. Zuko feels like maybe he should help him a little more but he _likes_ this—likes being managed, likes when Sokka pushes and pulls at his body to put him the way he wants, likes that Sokka doesn’t seem to mind doing most of the work when Zuko struggles to do it himself.

It feels good to let someone else be in charge and know that if he lets himself go limp and boneless, he’s not going to fall on his face. It feels good to let someone else be familiar with his body, to feel the pressure of someone else’s hands on his skin and not feel caged in. 

Zuko sags silently into Sokka’s hands, tiny sparks of anticipation popping all over his skin like carbonation. He doesn’t think twice about draping his legs over Sokka’s thighs. This could be enough, he decides, feels dizzy and heady and _safe_. 

This could be enough.

_Could be,_ anyway, if Zuko could just figure out for a second how to stop wanting more.

“Good for more?” Sokka asks kindly, as if getting everything he wants is what Zuko deserves for being the pain in the ass that he is. And Zuko is weak, _so weak_

.

“Yes,” the words get muffled into Sokka’s neck but Zuko knows that he hears them, “More, please.” 

“Hold on a second, then. Lemme go get the stuff.” Zuko makes a solid attempt to be helpful, scooting over enough so that Sokka can slide out from under him and go rummage for the lube and a condom in the other room. It doesn’t take him long, and Sokka sets the goods aside in favor of manhandling Zuko right back into his lap.

He exerts exactly enough energy to lift his hips and help Sokka tug his joggers down his thighs and all the way off to puddle on the floor by the couch. _Ha_ , the couch. People are gonna sit here later. 

Zuko muffles a half-delirious, half delighted cackle into Sokka’s neck. 

“What are you laughing about?”

“We’re gonna fuck here,” he says.

“Yeah?” Sokka asks, casually shimmying out of his own pants while he’s got the space to do it, “What about it?”

“Every time someone sits down, I’m gonna think about how we fucked here.”

Sokka snorts, teasing but not meanly, and gives Zuko’s hair a gentle tug. It’s so affectionate it hurts.

“You know, bud, if you’d kept that to yourself, I might have gone my whole life without thinking it too. You’ve cursed me.”

“S’your own fault,” Zuko mutters. His hands press into the warm flat of Sokka’s shoulders. Fuck, he loves these shoulders. They’re good shoulders. Zuko wants to lick them. “You cursed me with your dick. You deserve this.” Zuko does not lick them and knows that he will regret it. Everything is fine.

“Oh my _god_.” Sokka doesn’t make any noise, but Zuko knows he’s laughing at him because he can feel the vibrating in his chest. Good lord, if his shoulders are great, it’s dangerous business to be thinking about his chest. “What about my chest?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. Shut up. It’s stupid and I hate it, that’s what.”

“Okay, okay, got it. My chest is stupid.”

It’s _so_ stupid. Stupid and sexy. Zuko considers something appropriately scathing and not at all endearing in response, but finds that Sokka rediscovered his weakness of having his back rubbed. God, it feels good. There’s just the right amount of scratch and it’s not _fair_. Maybe Zuko’s not allowed to lick Sokka’s shoulders, but nobody ever said anything about biting them. Zuko feels like he wins when he sinks his teeth in and gets a raggedy moan in his ear for his trouble.

“Fuck,” Sokka grumbles. He’s the only person Zuko’s ever met who can complain so much and not actually sound annoyed about it. “ _Fuck,_ how are you so cute? Are your eyes open? Your eyes aren’t even open. Are you sleeping already?”

“Not sleeping.” Zuko tips his head forward and twists into an easy, comfortable straddle of Sokka’s hips. “Too horny to sleep.”

“I suppose you’d like me to do something about that too, then?” Zuko doesn’t have to open his eyes and see to know that Sokka’s smiling at him. _Good._ He’ll keep his eyes closed until the end of time because that smile will end him. _Ruin_ him. More than he’s already been ruined by everything else.

“Your fault,” Zuko says. “Be responsible.” He’s _so tired_ and _so horny,_ and it feels like honey in his veins. Maybe if he wasn’t already so tired he’d feel more on edge, more frantic, more impatient, but right now he feels slow and heavy and…

Good.

God, he feels _good_. It feels like it’s been forever since Zuko felt good.

Zuko can’t keep the breathy groan of contentment to himself, not when he finds the energy to muster up a roll of his hips, to find a little friction for his edges. It’s not a roar of pleasure but a purr, a pleasant backdrop for everything else that’s happening. The sex is always good, of course it is (is it fair? No it fucking is not), but that’s not what Zuko likes most.

Zuko’s _screwed._ He’s known this since they started doing this, that nothing good can come of sleeping casually with someone he has feelings for (his roommate, his _best friend—_ god, he’s stupid), but there isn’t a force on this earth that can make him stop. Zuko’s spent his whole life rejecting his wants and needs, but he doesn’t know how to deny this one.

He’s never wanted anything or anyone the way he wants Sokka. The intensity of Zuko’s want never ceases to blindside him, even as it simultaneously breaks his heart.

Zuko shivers when he feels movement behind him, the telltale motion of Sokka’s hand on himself stroking himself to full hardness. Zuko reaches back in an attempt to help, only to have his hand gently batted away and redirected to Sokka’s shoulders. Zuko has a split second fission of terrified _oh shit, I fucked up somewhere_ that shoots straight down his spine.

“I got it,” Sokka tells him. Zuko can’t even look him in the fucking eyes right now. “I got you. Let me take care of it. Just relax and get comfy for me.”

Zuko can relax. Zuko is _so_ relaxed. Zuko is weak as hell and will literally do anything Sokka asks as long as he asks him like that, with that firm, steady confidence that goes straight to Zuko’s dick and makes it scream _yes, please, whatever you want._ Sokka and his stupid, sexy sex voice. It’s not fair.

Zuko has never felt better. 

He shivers a little when Sokka reaches down to knead into the muscles of his thighs, somehow managing to immediately hone in the knots of tension. Zuko didn’t even know he was tense there.

“You’re tense everywhere, like, all the time, bud.”

_Shit,_ Zuko said that aloud too. Oops.

“I _know_ ,” he offers helpfully, windmills his hands for emphasis. They wind up again, as if by cosmic, sex magnetism, right back on the nape of Sokka’s neck where they belong. “It’s bullshit. Right? It’s bullshit. Tell me that it’s bullshit.”

“ _Total_ bullshit,” Sokka agrees, smiling so warmly that Zuko feels his insides melt into a puddle. 

“You’re gonna fuck me til my brain stops working, right?”

Zuko doesn’t know how it’s fucking possible, but Sokka’s entire face softens. He can’t look at him for too long without his heart clenching, gives up on holding himself up and sags fully onto Sokka’s body. The deep inhale of breath he takes into Sokka’s throat—breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave and soap and a little beer hops, is something that Zuko will deny until he dies.

Arms wrap around him and squeeze.

“Hell yeah I am. I’m gonna fuck you til your brain stops working.” Sokka shifts him, seemingly without a drop of effort, and it goes straight to Zuko’s dick. Zuko can feel his stupid ears going hot with a telltale flush that creeps down his whole body and tries to distract himself from being mortifying by rolling his hips against the firm lines of Sokka’s belly. The friction is delightful and definitely not enough, but Zuko’s too melty and content to really chase his own pleasure.

It’s enough to be held, to be touched, to feel cared for, and pretend that he doesn’t want anything more.

It’s enough.

(It has to be enough.)

There’s the cracking sound of the lid to the lube being popped open and some fumbling, and the slightly awkward squeezing sound of the bottle that Zuko judiciously ignores for the sake of his boner. And then, _finally,_ after what feels like at least one thousand years of horrible, nonconsensual wakefulness, Sokka’s fingers are finally probing carefully at his entrance. There’s a moment—there always is—where Zuko goes tense and coiled and he thinks that there’s no possible way it’s going to work.

“ _Relax._ ” Sokka reaches up, cradles the back of Zuko’s head in a hand, and noses into the dark hair by his temple. It’s like flipping a switch. Zuko uncoils like his strings have been cut, relaxes into the pressure. “I’ve got you. Good boy.”

Sokka being nice to him is hard enough to take. Sokka’s _praise_ and how liberal he is with it hits something a little different, like a gong reverberating through Zuko’s entire body. It would be easier if he wasn’t quite so kind. Zuko’s pretty used to giving but he hasn’t quite learned how to let himself take.

It’s a steep learning curve but Sokka approaches it with patience, and Zuko’s just along for the ride, following his own heart on a tether.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Sokka repeats with a grin, just to see him squirm. It works, too—it always fucking works. Zuko drags in a hard, raggedy breath and grinds down onto Sokka’s fingers. He’s got two firmly inside him and is doing that thing where he times his thrusts with Zuko’s breaths, and it’s _so good_ that Zuko wants to be mad about it.

He doesn’t have it in him to be mad, though. He’s too pleased and too tired and feels way too good to do anything but wrap his arms bodily around Sokka’s shoulders and take what he’s given. God, Zuko wants to kiss him. It’s so hard to not just reach out and squeeze Sokka’s cheeks between his palms, to lean in and kiss him until his composure shatters, until he’s as cracked and fragile as Zuko feels. Zuko wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

Zuko, tragically, does not kiss him. He wants to but he doesn’t, settling instead for muffling exhausted, breathy sighs against Sokka’s warm, dark shoulder.

“You’re taking, like, a thousand years,” he complains, “This is not my first rodeo; hurry the fuck up.” Zuko gets exactly what he wants out of his commentary: a sharp, cheerful slap on the ass and a third finger to fill him up.

“You’re awfully pushy,” Sokka says with a grin. His tone is trying to be annoyed but his eyes are bright and laughing, and Zuko ducks his head to hide his own smile. “You want me to hurt you?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“And I will—when I get to it.” Sokka angles his hand in such a way that has Zuko seeing stars behind his eyelids, laughs at the mortifyingly genuine noise that comes out of his mouth. “I’ll get you there, I promise. Gonna make it so good for you, okay, bud? Be patient for me. _Be good_.”

Zuko would like to say that he moans in the most macho way that he can imagine, but it’s definitely a whimper that comes out instead. This isn’t fair. Like, at all.

Sokka reaches around Zuko’s back to hastily rip open the condom wrapper, nearly dropping it twice before he manages to slide it down onto his cock.

“You’re gonna let me use this?” Sokka asks, casually like he’s discussing the weather and not the imminent dicking of Zuko’s life. He rubs his cock, hard and hot and _big_ , over Zuko’s entrance, presses in just enough that he can feel the head pop in, and stays there. Zuko shivers and tries not to pass out or die, tries equally hard to not just sink all the way down onto Sokka the way he desperately wants. It’s not enough. It’s not _enough._ Finally Sokka begins to slide inside properly, all the way to the hilt—and then stops completely. “God, you feel good. So fucking pretty like this, spread out and sitting on my dick. Maybe I’ll just stay here like this for a while and you can keep me nice and warm til you fall asleep. I’ll rub your back and everything. You’d like it.”

Zuko is sure that he would and is also sure that if Sokka does him like that, he’ll _definitely_ die. 

“Don’t be fucking mean,” he snaps, tries to sound mad but ends up sounding pleading and a more than a little desperate instead. “Don’t be mean to me.” 

“Okay, okay,” Sokka says, soothing, “Okay. No being mean to you. You work so hard, let me help you relax.” He sets a slow, gentle rhythm that is wonderful and sweet and absolutely not what Zuko needs right now. He knows it and grins at his friend’s grouchy scowl, pressing his hands hard into the small of Zuko’s back to hold him down, brutally motionless inside him. “You need more?”

God. _God,_ he’s gonna make Zuko say it.

“Come on, use your words. All you have to say is _Sokka, please rail me into next week_.”

Zuko _hates_ using his words. Words are stupid. People should just be able to, like, live inside his brain and automatically know what he needs without him having to be perceived like this, except that his brain is awful and nobody deserves that. And it doesn’t matter anyway; Sokka knows exactly what he wants and just likes to make him ask for it.

(And to be entirely honest, Zuko likes being made to do it. Not while it’s happening, certainly, but after? Zuko definitely likes what Sokka chooses for positive reinforcement.)

“Sokka,” he chokes out, cheeks red hot and voice barely louder than a whisper with a mortified, helpless squirm on his cock, “please rail me into next week.”

The smile he gets for his trouble is so bright and sunshiney that it’s one hundred percent worth the sacrifice of whatever dignity Zuko had left.

“Good boy.”

The pace Sokka chooses for him then is almost punishing, and it’s _so good._ Zuko whine-sobs, not a little bit incoherently. Sokka’s hands on his hips burn like a brand every time he uses them to tug Zuko down onto his cock, deep and perfect and somehow just what he wants.

“How are we feeling?” Sokka whuffs out a shaky breath into Zuko’s ear, “Come on, tell me. Does it feel good?”

It’s exactly what Zuko needs, just rough enough without feeling unkind and just this side of being too much. He feels dazed, floaty, underwater. He should try and be helpful, Zuko thinks distantly, but he’s definitely having an out of body experience. A _sexy_ out of body experience. Is this how he finally figures out how to astral project? No one will ever believe him.

Sokka reaches up to cup Zuko’s face in his hands, suddenly _very_ close and a little concerned. Close enough to kiss, definitely. Zuko bites down hard on his own evil, traitorous lips and tries not to think about how easy it would be.

“Still with me, pal?”

Zuko can’t do anything but nod.

“M’here,” he mumbles, and lets himself enjoy the way that Sokka’s fingers feel on his face. “I always wanna be here.” This is where Zuko wants to belong. This is where he wants to stay. “You’re my _favorite_.”

Even like this, Zuko catches the way that Sokka’s expression cracks, just a little, and he knows instantly that he’s made a mistake. He’s put too much out there, given too much away. This is his _best friend_ , not his boyfriend. If Sokka wanted him to be his boyfriend, then surely Zuko would know it.

...Right?

Abruptly and entirely without warning, Sokka’s pulling out of him entirely. Zuko has a split second to hiss in displeasure at the unexpected drag and the hollow feeling he’s left with after, before arms are wrapping around him. Sokka twists his body and then tips, and Zuko finds himself flat on his back on the cushions, wide eyed and startled as he stares up at Sokka. Sokka, who looks a little wild around the eyes, who’s still handling him gently and with purposeful care.

Sokka, who hoists Zuko’s thighs up enough to slot himself flush between them, and fucks his cock right back inside him without a word of explanation. Zuko can’t hold back his yelp of surprise that turns into a satisfied sigh, canting his hips up to try and take him just a little deeper. Take him, keep him, hold him as long as he’s able.

“Look at you, look at how much you like having me inside you,” Sokka says, sounding a little bit awed. Zuko wants to hold onto him but ends up covering his face with his hands instead. “Fuck, you’re _perfect_.” 

Zuko cannot look at him, not even a little bit, not even when Sokka leans forward to nuzzle his nose into his hair.

“You’re my favorite, too. Fuck, _baby,_ you’re my favorite.”

Zuko freezes.

Sokka realizes what he’s said almost instantly and goes just as still as the man underneath him, frozen like a statue with his dick still inside him.

“Fuck. Fuck, Zuko, I didn’t mean—I’m sor—“

“ _No,”_ Zuko manages to grit out between his teeth, trying hard to ignore that his eyes are burning. “Don’t say—don’t say you’re sorry.” He blinks once, twice, and his vision blurts. He reaches up to scrub at his eyes, but Sokka beats him to it, wiping away the beginnings of horrible, embarrassing tears before they can get any worse. “ _Please_ don’t say you’re sorry.”

If Sokka apologizes, then Zuko is definitely going to cry for real, and then he’ll never fuck him again.

“You’re not...mad?” Sokka asks carefully, delicately. 

Zuko shakes his head.

“No. I'm not.”

“Is that something that you would, um. Would you like me to call you that again?”

Zuko swallows hard and fights the immediate, self-preserving urge to lie and say no. To protect himself from the things that he wants, from the things that make him vulnerable, from the things that may eventually hurt him. But this, this whole thing…this is going to hurt him in the end anyway. It already does, sometimes.

If Sokka calls him _baby_ again, then Zuko might keel over. But god, if he doesn’t? That’s worse. That’s so much worse. 

Zuko cannot go the rest of his life without hearing it again.

In the end, Zuko swallows, wide-eyed and visibly unsteady, a little wet around the eyes still, and nods. He wants to curl up and hide but doesn’t know how to tear his eyes away from Sokka’s pretty, open face. He nods again, a little harder, just to make sure that he’s being clear.

“Baby,” Sokka repeats, so soft and almost tentative that Zuko’s heart hurts. “Baby.” Zuko shivers like he’s cold even though he’s never been so warm in his life. He wants to reach out and hold but doesn’t know how—he’s already taking so many liberties he told himself he wouldn’t ask for, ever, but he’s out of his depth, unmoored in an unfamiliar sea. 

His hands, tragically bereft, close around empty air. 

They close just once because moments later, Sokka’s sliding into the spaces between his fingers, squeezing at his hands.

“Oh my god, if I’d known you’d have wanted that,” Sokka pants into Zuko’s ear, fucking him hard enough that he squeaks, “I’d have said it forever ago. Look at you, baby. So _pretty_ , honey. Gorgeous. _Sweetheart,_ I fucking can’t with you. What do you want, baby? You’ve gotta tell me so I can—I wanna give you whatever you want.”

Zuko is going to start _crying_. If he starts crying now he might never actually stop.

He realizes, belatedly, that it’s too late. Sokka makes a quiet little wounded noise and releases his hands so that he can frame Zuko’s face in his hands. He tips his head forward to press their foreheads together.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Too much?” He brushes his thumbs over Zuko’s cheeks, wiping away the beginnings of tears that, if Zuko’s being honest, never really went away. 

How could Zuko possibly ask for anything else? He’s already been given more than he’d ever thought he’d have and somehow manages to want more, more, more. Where does the wanting stop? Where does the wanting become too much? When is _Zuko_ going to become too much?

Zuko wants. Shamelessly, recklessly, impulsively, and the more he’s given the less he knows how to stop. He knows that he’s needy, and that he’s clingy. Zuko knows what he wants.

Several things happen at once.

Sokka shifts, tilting his head like he’s going to rub his nose against Zuko’s cheek, and Zuko tips his chin up. Lips touch, press, and hold. 

It’s a kiss—an actual kiss, not any of Zuko’s threadbare excuses disguised as something else. He can’t brush this away and he doesn’t want to, even if he could. Even if it’s the only time he ever gets to do it.

It might have been an accident, but that doesn’t mean that Zuko doesn’t mean it.

If this is the first and last time that Zuko gets to kiss him for real, he’s going to do it properly or die trying. Zuko presses his palms to Sokka’s cheeks and holds, ready to pull away at any hint of recoil, but it never comes. It never comes because Sokka’s kissing him back and the combination of that and getting the banging of his life have Zuko well on the verge of falling apart.

God. They’re going to have to _talk_ about this. Zuko doesn’t want to talk about this, ever. All he wants for the rest of his life is to be here in this moment where nothing hurts and nothing feels truly dangerous, tucked inside Sokka’s hands and letting himself believe that his feelings are mutual.

Zuko is melting, dissolving, sublimating into bubbles and smoke. He kisses Sokka like he’s dying, drowning, lets himself take, as needy and clingy as he needs to be. Sokka’s holding onto him tightly and saying—god, _something_ into Zuko’s mouth but lord knows that Zuko’s got no clue what he’s saying. Not even a little bit, because Zuko’s orgasm crashes over him out of nowhere, a riptide that wrenches him out of his head completely and washes him out to sea.

He’s vaguely aware that he must make _some_ kind of noise when he comes, because Sokka’s pressing kisses to his temples and wiping at his eyes with his thumbs, even as Zuko paints his own belly with white. 

“Sweetheart,” _That’s_ a word that Zuko’s dazed, disconnected brain can register, even as Sokka mouths wetly at the line of Zuko’s jaw. He sounds _wrecked._ “Sweetheart, can I keep going? Is that okay? Are _you_ okay?”

Zuko is _so_ okay. He’s never been more okay in his entire goddamned life, even if he may actually still be crying a little.

“Okay,” Zuko agrees, “Okay, okay.” 

Zuko’s body feels oversensitive but not in a bad way. Just...kinda fizzy. _Ha_ , fizzy, like Zuko’s a can of soda pop that’s just been cracked open.

“What are you laughing about?”

Zuko stifles another delighted giggle into the warm skin of Sokka’s neck and gives it a nibble, just for good measure. It’s a good neck—a _great_ neck, really, and deserves to be licked and nibbled and bit. Zuko is just being a team player, here.

“Baby?”

“I’m _soda,_ ” he says with a wiggle of his fingers. “Poof. M’fizzy.”

“You’re definitely somethin’, alright.” 

Sokka begins to chase his pleasure in earnest now, and when he comes it’s with a stuttering of his hips and the kind of kisses against Zuko’s mouth that have his eyes welling up with tears again. _It doesn’t matter_ is what Zuko doesn’t know how to say when faced with the other man’s concern. They’re not bad tears, not really. 

Not yet.

For now they’re merely a release of tension and heat, a physical representation of pain leaving his body.

Zuko’s effectively useless through the entire cleanup process, whining softly in despair when Sokka pulls out of him and leaves to go get a towel. That’s it. That’s it, then.

The good tears aren’t good anymore; they’re _awful_ , and when Sokka gets back with a clean towel from the bathroom, it’s to see his roommate staring at the ceiling with his arms folded over his face. The way that Sokka pries Zuko’s hands away isn’t gentle but the grip he holds on him is.

“What’s wrong, bud? Why are you crying?”

Zuko can’t tell him that it’s because he’s terrified to see the end of things. He doesn’t even know how to say it. So he sniffles a little instead, very quietly, and says nothing. Whatever Sokka sees on his face says _something,_ though, because his own face goes resolute and quietly determined.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Come on, baby, it’s okay. You’re so fucking tired. Come get some sleep.”

Zuko’s got just enough awareness left to notice when he’s pulled physically off of the sofa and very gently manhandled into bed. Not _his_ bed, he thinks deliriously, nosing into pillows that smell good but not right. It’s easy to just...let himself be arranged and stay that way, loose limbed and properly relaxed. Zuko curls up in a nest of Sokka’s blankets, half asleep despite himself and wrapped up in warmth.

Sokka manages to muscle a pair of well-worn, soft pajama pants up Zuko’s hips and begins to pull on a pair of his own.

Shit. There’s something he had to say? Something he needed to talk about. It must have been important—it _feels_ important, anyway.

Zuko bats around blindly until his fingers catch at fabric and he pulls, yanking Sokka halfway across his own mattress by his pockets.

“Wait, wait,” he mumbles, “I have to—I have to explain—“

“Shhhh,” Sokka tells him, “You can explain in the morning. For now, sleep.” He flicks the light switch and the room goes dark. Zuko lets his eyes fall shut and sighs. It’s a relief to not have to look at anything. It’s a relief to be here and not in his own room, alone. 

Sokka hesitates, just for a moment, before climbing into his bed and sliding underneath his blankets, dislodging Zuko’s hands from his pants enough that he can lay down properly. He’s a solid warmth pressed against Zuko’s chest, and there isn’t a force on earth that can keep him from tucking his nose into the juncture of Sokka’s shoulder. Big hands rub soothing patterns into Zuko’s back, and Zuko uncoils bit by incremental bit until he’s loose and slack and can’t, for the life of him, remember what he needed to explain.

He’s way too content and pleased with his current lot to complain. Zuko falls asleep almost immediately to the feeling of hands stroking his hair and something that could have been, on some other planet where Zuko gets that lucky, a kiss on the forehead.

* * *

Zuko wakes up in the middle of the afternoon in a bed that isn’t his.

He’s warm and toasty, and for the first time in over twenty-four hours his head doesn’t hurt. Zuko’s not using a pillow—his head’s resting instead on a dark chest and one of Sokka’s nipples is, like, two inches from his face. Zuko, hazy and happy and clearly hallucinating, sticks out his tongue to lick it. Things this good don’t just happen, right? 

Except that the chest under his ear immediately earthquakes in laughter, and Zuko’s brain goes sharp and very abruptly awake.

_Oh, no. Oh no, oh no._

Zuko flounders in an attempt to get upright, but he can’t because not only is Sokka (who is definitely real and definitely here and definitely _not_ a hallucination) dissolving into snickers, but he’s also tightened his grip to the point that Zuko can’t get loose without hurting someone.

Zuko wants to die. He’s going to lay back down in the mess he’s made of Sokka’s bed and simply pass away.

Except that...he doesn’t really have the luxury of doing that, either. Not when his brain is doing an incredibly detailed highlights reel from the night before, and licking Sokka’s nipple is nothing compared to the sudden realization that Zuko’s managed to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had with his stupid _feelings._ He’s broken it after all this time, and Sokka is _laughing._

Zuko’s insides, hot with embarrassment, begin to frost over in terror instead.

He twists hard in Sokka’s grip, for real, hard enough that the other man releases him. Zuko scrambles away from him until he’s inches away from the edge of the mattress, as far away as he can get without actually falling off the bed. Sokka’s staring at him and looking...hurt?

He does, he looks genuinely hurt, staring at Zuko with a horrible cross of worry and sadness all over his face. Zuko’s heart twists. He didn’t want this. He didn’t ever want to see that look on his best friend’s face, but here it is.

“I—I’m _sorry,_ ” Zuko finally manages after a horrifyingly long time of trying to make words happen. He realizes that he looks ridiculous, still sleep rumpled and messy in the middle of Sokka’s bed. “I was...presumptuous. Of. Um. Of our arrangement. I asked for things I shouldn’t have asked for. I took—I took _advantage_ of you. And I’m sorry, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to—” his voice cracks, “—if you don’t want to con—continue it. With me.”

Sokka’s expression shifts from hurt to completely bewildered, and then his face goes frighteningly blank. He goes a long time without speaking, long enough that Zuko gets twitchy, pinpricks of tension crackling over his skin. He doesn’t even move, just sits with his hands folded in his lap with that unreadable look on his face.

Zuko waits for what feels like an eternity for his judgement.

“Did you…” Sokka begins, changes his mind, then starts again. “Do you really think that I’d do anything with you that I didn’t want to do?”

Zuko’s brain screams _yes_ . Sokka is a good person and a better friend, and he’s put his own feelings on the back burner for people plenty of times in the past. Zuko’s brain screams _yes,_ but he feels like that’s probably not the right answer. He doesn’t answer at all, which feels even more damning somehow.

Sokka frowns at him a little and twists at his hands. Zuko resists the urge to pull the blankets tighter around himself or to run immediately to the rental ads to find a new place to live.

Finally, Sokka sighs and rubs his temples, like Zuko’s given him a headache.

“....You do. Of course you do.” He doesn’t sound mad or judgemental, maybe a little sad if anything. “Listen, I—there’s a difference between stuff I have to do and stuff I want to do. Nothing I do with you is stuff I have to do. I don’t _have_ to do anything with you. I do it because I want to. I never wanted to make you feel...obligated, okay? I’d take whatever I could get as long as it was what you were willing to give me. But it never felt like enough. I _always_ wanted more.”

Zuko opens his mouth to say that he knows this, and nothing comes out. Sokka reaches out with both hands and cups Zuko’s face in his palms.

“Let me make myself totally clear. I fuck you because I want to, I called you _baby_ because I want to, and I kissed you because I want to.”

Zuko feels his throat close up, and he isn’t sure if he’s going to start laughing, crying, or maybe just keel over. He knows that he probably looks dumb as hell, staring at his roommate like he’s been brained in the head by a two-by-four and can’t do anything about it.

He _wanted_ to. Sokka _wanted_ to.

“Can you, uh, can you say something?” Sokka squeezes a tiny bit at Zuko’s cheeks and releases him with a nervous look on his face. “Kinda going out on a limb here with this. Heart on my sleeve and all that shit. If you’re gonna reject me, you should get it over with because I’m not going to reject you first. I don’t know how.”

Zuko tries to swallow around the lump in his throat and fails. Sokka’s just _watching_. He looks how Zuko feels—anxious and on edge, but also...hopeful? Zuko’s rabbit heart pounds inside his chest, so loud that surely it can be heard halfway down the block. He digs his hands into the rumples of Sokka’s blankets until his knuckles go white.

This time when he tries to speak, words actually come out. They’re hoarse and shy and barely louder than a whisper, but they don’t need to be loud for Sokka to hear him in the silence.

“I wanted more, too. I always wanted more. I was just—I didn’t know how to ask. I was afraid to know. If you were going to tell me no, I didn’t want to ask at all.” They sit across from one another in silence for a good, long while, just watching one another. Zuko knows exactly what he wants. He always has.

The tension is thick and suffocating. Zuko wants to shatter it into pieces.

“Can I….um.” Zuko’s fingers twist in the blankets puddled around him. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

A wide, slow smile begins to spread over Sokka’s face, and he opens his arms. “Yeah, baby. C’mere and kiss me.”

Zuko scrambles across the bed to throw himself into Sokka’s lap, putting enough force into it that the other man topples backwards onto his mattress with a yelp of noisy surprise. Zuko swallows it down, crushes their lips together with the kind of force that surprises him. Sokka laughs into his mouth.

“God, you’re fucking cute,” is what comes out of him when Zuko pulls away to take a breath, “ _So_ cute.”

Zuko, pale and breathless, begins to go red all down his neck.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “Don’t be nice to me. I’ll squash you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Zuko, with every drop of love in his heart, wants to strangle him. He does not do this, and instead considers the absurdity of the situation. It’s not hard for the laughter to come bubbling out of him, tinged only a little with relieved, nearly giddy hysteria. There isn’t a single part of him that thought that this would be how today would go.

Zuko had been fully prepared to give all of it up and he _doesn’t have to._

“Can I kiss you without asking?” He mumbles into Sokka’s throat, so close that his lips touch skin with every word. Underneath him, Sokka shivers.

“Y-yeah. Yes. Please do that.”

“Can I hold your hand whenever I want?”

“Oh my god. Yes. Yes, of course you can.”

Zuko slides his hands into Sokka’s, laces their fingers together, squeezes him tight. His heart’s a war drum in his head, and his body fizzes. He releases just one hand to palm, very gently, at Sokka’s cock. He’s not wearing underwear underneath his pants. Zuko swallows hard.

“Can I blow you?”

Sokka’s eyes are so huge and so blue when Zuko flicks his gaze up to check his face.

“ _God_ , yes.”

It’s not like this is even remotely the first time that Zuko’s gone down on him, not by a fucking long shot. It is, however, the first time that he’s doing it with his heart on display, and it feels different. Zuko slides off of his body entirely and slips silently off the end of the bed, sinking to his knees and patting the edge of the mattress.

“Here,” he says, “Like this.”

It’s not the lazy man’s position but it’s the one that Zuko likes best. He knows that Sokka likes to watch him and, behind the instinctive fluster of embarrassment, Zuko likes for Sokka to watch him. Zuko likes giving head and likes when Sokka can see how much he likes it.

Sokka yanks his pants down his hips and Zuko tugs them all the way off, settling himself between Sokka’s thighs like he belongs there. He doesn’t hesitate to take Sokka’s cock into his mouth, just the head at first, then all the way until Zuko’s nose brushes the skin of his pelvis. Sokka reaches down to stroke his knuckles down Zuko’s cheek.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth is unreal.” Sokka’s staring down at him like he’s found religion. “You look so good on your knees for me. Like you were made for me.”

Zuko doesn’t really consider himself particularly good or skilled in bed. He prides himself on generally being a decent lay and making sure that his partners have a good time, but he knows that he’s not any kind of sex savant. A sex savant would definitely be better at communicating than Zuko is. To thine own self be true, and all that. Zuko’s not deluded, though, he _does_ know that he has a talented mouth and, more than that, enjoys putting it to good use. 

So for a while he takes his time and lets himself zone out, focused only on what he’s doing instead of worrying about what his face looks like or whether he’s going to end up with rug burn on his knees. Giving head is easy and it’s _fun._ What’s also fun is the way that Sokka’s thighs shake a little around him and the way that the other man is shameless and liberal with his noises of appreciation. Zuko likes the way that he feels in his mouth and likes the way that Sokka’s petting his hair, likes that he doesn’t mind that Zuko may or may not be leaving bruises from his fingers on the back of his calves.

“Hey, baby?”

Zuko startles and looks up. Sokka’s staring down at him, blue eyes big and a little dark with pleasure.

“Uh-huh?”

“You know that I didn’t even touch you when you came last night?” Sokka asks, deceptively conversational as he strokes Zuko’s bangs out of his face. “I was so surprised. You were too, coming all over yourself without even giving me a heads up about it. If I’d known, I’d have made it even better for you.” Zuko lets out a wordless hum of a moan around the cock in his mouth. “You’re always so _good_ for me, baby. I wonder if you could do it again.”

Zuko does not doubt for a fucking second that he could do it again. He’s been half hard for the past few minutes and now that he’s here on his knees and Sokka’s running his mouth again, there isn’t a single scrap of doubt. Zuko’s so terrible with his own words, and Sokka’s are _powerful_ , washing over him and sinking through his skin and into his bones with the intensity of touch.

“What else do you like? You like when I call you cute pet names— _adorable,_ by the way. You like when I compliment you. Have I ever mentioned that? Every time I fuck you and say something nice, you tighten up around me like nobody’s business.” 

Zuko absolutely did _not_ know this. He wants to be embarrassed by it but can’t seem to find it, not when Sokka says it with such blatant awe, like it’s something that he’s proud of. Zuko wants to answer the question, but he doesn’t want to take his mouth off of Sokka’s dick. He’s relieved when Sokka takes the decision out of his hands by very gently scooting backwards. He cups a palm underneath Zuko’s chin and rubs his thumb over his lower lip, strokes down his throat to squeeze at the back of Zuko’s neck.

“You’re so quiet like this,” he says, “Use your words. I can’t guess _everything._ ”

Sokka does a damn good job of guessing plenty about what Zuko likes, but yeah, that’s fair.

“Tell me what you like. What else can I do for you?”

“I like when. Um.” Zuko’s distracted by the warm pressure on his neck, and another squeeze works well to get his attention. “I like to be, er, treated gently. Rough is fun, but.” _Gentle makes my heart hurt but, like, in a good way_ gets caught in his throat and won’t come out, but it doesn’t seem to matter much. Sokka’s face looking down at him is warm and affectionate.

“Good boy,” he says encouragingly. “What else?”

“I like what you do with my hair,” he mumbles, “Like, holding it and stuff.”

Obligingly, Sokka reaches into Zuko’s hair and wraps a section of strands around his palm. He keeps a grip tight enough to hold but not enough to really pull or cause pain, just enough that he knows that Zuko can feel it, just hard enough to tug Zuko’s head back without a drop of resistance. A soft, quiet hum of contentment comes out of him, and Sokka can’t resist dipping his thumb between Zuko’s lips, holding it very gently on his tongue for a moment before pulling it back.

“Anything else?” 

That’s just mean, because there’s _so_ much. Zuko considers just ignoring his question in favor of using his mouth for objectively better purposes, but the hand in his hair tightens incrementally and he shivers instead.

“Come on, baby. I can see it on your pretty face that there’s something. You’re going red right—“ Sokka touches the tip of one of Zuko’s ears, “—here. No-pants time is judgement-free time.”

“ _IlikewhenyousaythatI’mgood._ ” The words come out a jumbled mess that even Zuko can barely hear, even though they came from _him_. Sokka gets the gist, though, or enough of one, because he startles, and then his hand in Zuko’s hair goes gentle and very, very careful. His dark, pretty face is so openly affectionate that Zuko can’t remember how to make eye contact, and decides to stare pointedly at Sokka’s dick until he’s allowed to escape this conversation. Zuko’s never that lucky, though, because Sokka is both surprised by his answer and shamelessly delighted.

“That right?” He asks, voice very soft. “You like to be good for me, sweetheart?”

Zuko’s mouth is so dry, and he swallows hard. It doesn’t really help. Sokka’s waiting, expectant, and finally his chin dips down in a minuscule nod.

“You are,” Sokka agrees, grinning like he can see the way that heat pools in Zuko’s guts. “You’re always very good.” Zuko’s very, very aware that he’s wearing pants and that they aren’t _his,_ that he’s hard and achy and wearing Sokka’s pajamas, and the knowledge makes him even harder. Zuko leans forward to put his mouth back where he wants it, but Sokka leans forward before he can, looping his arms around Zuko’s shoulders to squeeze and dropping a kiss onto his hair. “I know that talking about shit is hard for you. Thank you for indulging me.”

_Zuko’s_ the one who feels like he’s being indulged to an almost frustrating level, and when Sokka straightens up again he levels him with an impatient, unimpressed stare.

“What’s the face for?”

“You’re enjoying this more than you’re supposed to,” he complains.

“Why can’t we both enjoy it? Maybe I like giving you what you want.”

“Shut up. It’s my turn.” Zuko emphasizes his words with a half-hearted whack to Sokka’s thigh. “It’s _my_ turn. Don’t be a dickhead about it.”

“Your turn, huh? To give me what I want?” That hand goes straight back into Zuko’s hair and tugs him forward with no real force, “Go on, then, sweetheart. I want you to go ahead and use that talented mouth of yours, then.”

_Finally_.

Zuko goes back to what he was doing, loses himself in the sensations of Sokka’s hands on him and the quiet, unintelligible sounds coming from his throat. He’s not going slow on purpose, but he’s not rushing things either, enjoying himself with a kind of calm serenity that’s clearly a holdover from last night. His brains must still be loose.

Not that Zuko’s complaining.

Zuko lets himself zone out and float, letting Sokka’s steady stream of praise wash over him until his insides are nothing more than a warm puddle of contentment. 

“Hey, can I come on your face?”

Zuko jerks a little, startled out of his reverie. Sokka’s staring down at him and looking...tentative? It’s not a weird request in the scheme of things, but Zuko can’t remember the last time that Sokka really asked him for anything specific in bed. Has he? Ever?

He wracks his brain back to everything else they’ve done, and Zuko can’t pick out a single thing that Sokka has asked him for. He’s given and given and given.

There’s something important in the way he chooses now to ask for what he wants, and it’s deeply tied to the reason why he looks so nervous now.

Zuko doesn’t hesitate.

He rocks back a few inches, onto his haunches, tips his head to the side, and gives Sokka the most inviting smile he knows how.

“Yeah,” he says, “You should do that.”

Sokka takes himself in hand with a quiet little hiss and strokes down, root to tip.

“You say that to all the boys?” He jokes, covers up what Zuko can see as obvious nerves with humor. 

Zuko lets his smile widen. “I say that to _you_ ,” he corrects. “You say that you want me to have what I want? As if I don’t want you to have what _you_ want?”

“Turnabout is _not_ fair play.”

“Bullshit it’s not,” Zuko snaps back, leaning forward just enough to bite at the inside of Sokka’s thigh, making him yelp. “Are you gonna come on my face, or what?” He tilts up to nose at the shaft of Sokka’s dick, pressing a kiss to the very tip. “Come on. I want it.”

Sokka drags in a shuddering breath. 

“You want it, huh?”

Zuko nods, his heart pounding.

“Yeah, I want it. Don’t make me ask again.”

Sokka reaches out with a hand, runs the back of his knuckles over Zuko’s cheek.

“Alright, then. Close your eyes, sweetheart, and I’ll come all over your pretty face.”

Zuko lets his eyes drop closed. It’s uncomfortable to not see, to not even really be touching, to _wait_. Zuko’s impatient and _awful_ at waiting and even worse at feeling vulnerable, at subjecting himself to others. He tries hard to not fixate on what he can hear ( _awkward_ ) and focus instead on what he feels—the sensation of carpet under his knees, the occasional reminder that his stomach’s sending out that food needs to happen at some point, and the racing of his heart.

He tries to settle, to be patient, to be _good_ , and then there’s hot liquid on his face and the gorgeous, unfakeably shameless moan of Sokka’s orgasm. Zuko can’t see but who needs to? Who needs to see when all he has to do is listen to Sokka’s ragged, heaving breaths that match the quiet vibrations in his body?

“Fuck, sweetheart, _fuck._ That’s hot.”

Zuko pokes his tongue out of his mouth, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed, and gives the side of his cheek an experimental lick. Sokka makes a horrified, strangled noise.

“Oh my _god_ , don’t eat it.”

“Why? I thought it was supposed to be sexy or something. Also, what the fuck have _you_ been eating?”

“Nooooooo. I already came, nothing in this world is sexy right now. You’re wasting your time.”

Zuko begins to crack an eye open to glare at him, only for Sokka to screech in protest.

“Keep your eyes closed! You want jizz in your eyes?”

Zuko’s still unspeakably horny to the point that he’s a little annoyed about it.

“Maybe I do,” he grumbles. “Maybe that’s my new kink, have you ever thought about that? It’ll be the next big thing. _Come right in my fucking eyes, Sokka._ ”

Sokka snorts at him. “I’m pretty sure that it’s not. Also, stop being funny. That’s my job and it’s not fair and you’re not allowed. Hang on a second, I’ll be right back.”

There’s the sound of Sokka getting up and leaving the room. Zuko fumbles his way up onto the bed, eyes firmly closed, and settles against the headboard to wait. Sokka’s not gone long; it’s not more than a minute before he’s back and sounding way more composed than he left.

“Don’t freak out, I’m just gonna touch your face.” And then there’s a washcloth, wet with pleasantly warm water running over his face. Zuko sighs a little and leans into it until it’s less like Sokka’s wiping his face and more of Zuko rubbing his face into Sokka’s washcloth-covered palm. “Cute. You kicked all my pillows off.”

“Shut up, fuck your pillows. I’m so hard I think my dick is going to fall off.”

“What a romantic,” Sokka manages to choke out between laughs, tossing the washcloth to the side and tugging Zuko into the curve of his arm. “Let me help you out with that.” Zuko opens his eyes, a tiny bit bleary from keeping them closed, and hisses a little when Sokka slips his hand down his waistband to wrap his fingers around him. 

It takes an embarrassingly short time. All it takes is a couple of passes of Sokka’s hand, a calloused thumb rubbing purposefully over the head of Zuko’s cock, and a quiet croon of _come on, baby, come for me, please, good boy,_ for Zuko’s traitorous, hair trigger dick to come all over the insides of Sokka’s soft, well-worn pajama pants. Sokka tilts his head and kisses him through his orgasm, and it’s intense and bordering on too much, enough to make Zuko’s toes curl and his eyes squeeze shut. Afterwards, it’s all he can do to sit there and heave out raspy breaths into Sokka’s mouth.

Sokka’s arm, warm and heavy around his shoulders, gives him a squeeze. Zuko sags, boneless, into his side and buries his nose in Sokka’s neck. Maybe if he manages to meld himself into Sokka’s frame, then it won’t be so noticeable that he’s shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“You okay?”

Zuko just nods, silent and with a strange lump in the back of his throat that stops any sound from coming out of him. Sokka eyeballs him for a moment longer than socially acceptable and smiles a little, despite himself.

“Are you having feelings?” He asks, very gently. 

Zuko nods again. So many feelings. Way too many feelings to be expected to handle. Sokka laughs like that’s something he finds charming instead of mortifying, tips his head to press a kiss onto Zuko’s dark hair.

“You should go shower,” he suggests, “You’ve got to be feeling gross.”

Zuko shakes his head. This still kind of feels like a dream. What if he leaves the room and wakes up somewhere else, and finds out that none of this ever really happened? What if he’s asleep right now? Dreams are the only place that Zuko’s _ever_ gotten everything he wanted. 

His therapist would probably have a few things to say about that particular train of thought, but Zuko doesn’t want to think about his therapist while wearing Sokka’s pants.

“Come on, baby. Go shower. You’ll feel better.”

Zuko will _not_ feel better, because the moment the illusion shatters will break him. He’ll stay as gross as he has to.

“Don’t want to,” he manages.

“Yes, you do,” Sokka scolds. “You’re a bad liar.” He shifts on the bed, tucks his knees underneath his body for the leverage to start shoving Zuko bodily off his mattress. “Come on, then. We’ll just have to go together.”

It’s not a sexy shower, not even a little bit.

The shower and bath combo in their apartment is not meant for two people so they’re crammed together like sardines underneath the spray so that no one ends up cold and naked away from the water, or worse—touching the tile. Objectively, it should be terrible, but Sokka insists on helping Zuko wash his hair and spends enough time rinsing out imaginary soap that Zuko’s happy and syrup slow by the time he’s done. He gets his words back properly somewhere between rubbing his own soapy loofah all over Sokka’s body and pressing himself close for the warm, wet hug of his dreams.

It’s not a sexy shower but it is a good one. The illusion never breaks and by the time Zuko’s ensconced in a towel, he can actually believe that it’s real.

It’s the middle of the afternoon but Sokka insists that the first meal of the day should always be breakfast. He puts himself in charge of cutting up a few bananas while Zuko reheats some leftover bao out of the fridge, studiously poking them with a finger as they come out of the microwave to make sure they’re heated all the way through.

Sokka’s phone goes off a couple of times. He ignores the first two and then picks it up for the third, going still as he reads. 

“Everything okay?” Zuko asks when his mouth is no longer filled with banana and bread. Sokka’s just staring down at his phone like he’s not sure what to do with it.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“That’s totally believable. Try again.”

Sokka sticks his tongue out at him from across the table and flicks a banana slice at him. It lands on the table and Zuko shrugs and eats it anyway.

“Suki wants to know if you’re my boyfriend now.”

Zuko’s mouth drops open and banana falls out. Sokka doesn’t laugh at him, though, and there’s a little furrow between his eyebrows that means he’s nervous. 

It’s his call, is what that face is saying. Whatever Zuko decides now is the direction they’re going. It’s a crossroads, and staying neutral is not an option.

The good news is that, despite it all, Zuko has always known what he’s wanted.

“Obviously you’re going to tell her yes,” he mumbles, wiping the banana off the table with a napkin to avoid any and all eye contact. He doesn’t want to see what Sokka’s face looks like, definitely won’t be able to handle it, so he just won’t look.

Zuko doesn’t have to look to be able to hear the smile in Sokka’s voice when he replies, “Obviously.” There’s a pause and the tap-tap-tap of typing, because Sokka’s the only weirdo Zuko knows who likes the sound of pretend buttons, and then, “Hey, look at me?”

Zuko looks up just in time for Sokk to hoist himself halfway across the kitchen table, grabbing Zuko by the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him in for a vaguely banana and bao-flavored kiss.

“What was that for?” He asks.

It’s too late to avoid Sokka’s smile and it’s like looking into the fucking sun. Zuko’s heart hurts, but in a good way.

“Because I wanted to.”

And, well, that’s good enough for Zuko.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
